Save Me, Sinners

“How far is this place?” I ask, clinging to something like pragmatism.

Jake chuckles. “By Lamborghini? Not far.” He brushes my lips with his. “We can go as fast as you want…”

“You’d like that,” I manage to say. His lips are magnetic; mine feel drawn to his and whatever part of my brain is supposed to stop that sort of thing is shorted out.

“So would you,” Jake says. “I promise.”

I believe him. Or at least, my body does—that familiar heat between my legs spreads to my skin quickly, and suddenly the feeling of his fingers on my bare arm is electric.

Jake is just here for conquest. I know that. But honestly… maybe it doesn’t have to be just him. Don’t I deserve a little fun? After all the work I’ve put into this place? It’s just one night. After that I’ll probably never see Jake again, and you know what? I could be okay with that.

“All right,” I tell him, leaning in to bite his lip. “Take me.”

I have to admit—there’s something strangely hot about driving a hundred and ten miles an hour on a winding road. The Lamborghini’s engine is a smooth vibration that courses through the car seat and into me.

Talking is pointless; neither of us could hear anything over the roar of the engine, so the music is up and loud and if we go any faster I might actually somehow be able to outpace all my problems, all my worries.

Jake glances at me, and his lips move.

“What?” I shout at him.

He grins, and reaches over to my seat. His fingers slide my dress up my thighs, and he tugs at the exposed strap of my panties. In another second, he’s under them, and then I gasp as he finds me wet and sensitive from the rumbling of the car.

Whatever he’s up to down there, pinching and rubbing and stroking in slow circles, it’s better action than I give myself and I melt around it. Jake isn’t even looking—he’s got his eyes on the road—but his smile is smug, and when I moan loud enough to be heard over the radio and the engine he laughs and his fingers work that much harder and God I’m close…

As if he’s reading my mind—or at least some part of me—he eases off, exploring my lower lips with gentle, light caresses that feel incredible but are just shy of what I really need.

It takes another half an hour before we pull off the highway, and by the time we do I can barely see straight.

The absence of noise when the car stops is jarring, like coming back to the real world from a dream. I can still feel the echoes of the engine in my body. Or maybe that’s Jake’s manipulation of my clit that’s got me buzzed.

Either way, a moment later he’s opening my door and helping me out of the low-riding sports car.

The place is everything he said it would be, even at night. There’s a full moon high in the sky, surrounded by stars that glitter off the surface of a preternaturally smooth lagoon.

Whatever breath I have left is taken away by the sight.

“Want a glass of wine?” he asks casually as he leads me to the door. “I had the place stocked.”

“Did you, now?” I laugh, and let him take me to the bar.

Once there, though, instead of letting him pour me a glass, I pull him to me and press my lips to his. Jake makes a surprised little grunt that turns into a low growl. His hands find the small of my back and pull me to him so that our bodies are pressed together, and I can feel that he’s every bit as hungry for this as I am.

And then he’s dipping a bit to pull my dress up over my thighs, and I’m off the floor, my legs wrapped around his waist as he turns us toward the bar and sits me down on it. Our lips still in contact, his tongue piercing my mouth, he finds my panties and tugs, pulling them off entirely.

I moan when his fingers slip inside me, his thumb massaging my aching, teased nub and his teeth catch my lower lip as he laughs softly at my ecstatic agony, quickly working me into a feverish kind of madness that has me bucking against his hand.

When he lets my mouth go, I almost fall forward chasing him. He pushes my dress the rest of the way up—I want to take the damn thing off—and before I know it he’s spread my knees apart. His lips and tongue clamp down around me, and my toes curl as I make a strangled sound. I have to brace myself on the overhang above the bar to keep from falling.

“Jake,” I breathe, barely able to make the word, and tangle my fingers in his hair. He makes a sound like he’s enjoying some kind of mythical dessert, and the vibration buzzes inside me like a small swarm of bees. My heart pounds, and all the pent-up need from the last weeks and from the erotic torture of the drive here gathers in a burning coil at the base of my spine. It slithers up my back as it spreads hea

t throughout my limbs until finally, like a wave shattering on the shore, every muscle in my body tenses. My fingers claw at the back of Jake’s head as he tosses me into the abyss with a flick of his tongue.

He laughs while I come, gripping my thighs as his elbows keep my knees forced apart and he gives me no time to recover. The intensity of my oversensitive clit sends spasms through my body, my back arching as I gasp and moan, begging him to stop even though I desperately want him to keep going forever.

When he straightens up, I can taste myself on his tongue. His kisses consume me as he pulls my legs around his waist again and draws me off the bar and across the room to a thick, plush rug meant to look like bearskin. With remarkable smoothness we both descend onto it.

I reach for his pants, eager to launch my own counteroffensive, and in a moment he’s free and I can feel that he’s thick and hard, the tip of him moist from excitement. He’ll stretch me, I know, and the thought of being full of him excites me all over, but I push him to sit up on his knees as I roll onto my side and taste him. Salty and vaguely sweet, I’d forgotten what a man tastes like, but it’s a heady taste that I suddenly can’t get enough of.